Page 40 of Thresholds

"Uh," I murmured, holding my hands out as I feebly gestured to the jeans and plaid shirt I'd worn to the hospital before changing into scrubs this morning. I wasn't one of those docs who could wear a suit under my white coat. A day didn't go by without getting a considerable amount of bodily fluids on my scrubs. That was the nature of trauma and emergency work. If it wasn't messy, it wasn't myservice.

"They won't notice," he said. He was decked out in a red flannel shirt that made him look like Saint Nick's hipsterbrother.

"Am I supposed to bring anything?" I asked. I was desperate now. Any reason to bail, I was takingit.

"I was supposed to bring Emmerling," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But she was called into that septicgallbladder."

"Maybe we should wait for her," I suggested. "How long is a septic gallbladder going to take anyway? She'll be done within twenty minutes. Out of post inthirty."

"You don't see many septic gallbladders, do you?" he asked, pulling a scarf around his neck. I shook my head. "She'll be in there for an hour. Maybe two. She said to go on withouther.”

"You're sure? Really? I don't think we should show up to a family thing empty-handedandmissingEmmerling."

I sounded like a whiny bitch.I am a whinybitch.

"We're good," he said, waving toward the door. "They won't mind. Comeon."

We headed from the hospital toward the neighborhood where this party was taking place, the North End. I didn't know much about this city or how to navigate the impossibly narrow one-way streets. I had no problem with walking, either, but it was too damn cold for thisshit.

Cal pointed us in the right direction, occasionally stopping to explain the significance of one location or another. Monuments, squares, memorial bridges. I wasn't here for the history lesson but I nodded along as if I was studying up for the finalexam.

We procured a nice bottle of champagne at the Public Market since I kept harassing Hartshorn about bringing something. We agreed champagne was universally appreciated, but Cal made some snarly noises when I tried to pay. He got over it pretty quickly and resumed with his tour guideroutine.

"You really like this city," I said after a long speech about a molasses flood that happened a hundred years ago. I shoved my hands into my pockets, searching for a corner of warmth to fight off the fucking horror of this wind chill. I had few happy memories of Los Angeles at this point but I didn't appreciate the weather while I had it. Even the crazy-hot days when it seemed like the LA Basin was going to melt right into theocean.

"I do," Hartshorn agreed. He didn't seem to notice the weather. Maybe he didn't see a reason to complain about everything in the entire world the way I did. "It was an adjustment for me, too. But after I stopped adjusting and started living, I found this is a nice place to callhome."

I grunted out something that sounded like an agreement and kept my head down. Part of me couldn't believe I'd been conscripted into this friends-of-friends holiday catastrophe. I did not do this shit. I didn't meet up with people from the hospital for a few beers or join the department's kickballleague.

Then again, I wasn't invited to join those events with anyfrequency.

But the other part of me knew that I would've been sitting at home, alone, alternately eating beef lo mein and jerking off to the college cheerleading championship on ESPN. That sounded infinitely better than socializing. Those chicks were so fucking flexible. Tough,too.

"Are there going to be any women at this thing?" Iasked.

Hartshorn bobbed his head. "Yeah, of course. There's always a biggroup."

"Okay. Good. Good to hear." I nodded several times and forced myself to feel better about this. "So, you're the head of cardio-thoracic surgery and you don't get the holidays off? That doesn't motivate me to advance," I asked, aiming for jokey and collegial but sounding like aprick.

I am a prick. The biggest fuckingprick.

"I take long weekends here and there," he said. "I'd rather work the holidays and let the surgeons with kids and families have the time off. Doesn't botherme."

This guy was a fucking saint. I couldn't even standit.

"My mom's a physician," he continued. "She's the only doc in something like two hundred square miles. Rural Oregon. Her practice is mostly clinic hours and house calls. The holidays aren't a sacred day when that's your life, so it doesn't bother my family that I'm not home." He shot me a quick glance. "What about you? Are you from Californiaoriginally?"

I jerked my shoulder in response, but the bulk of my coat obscured it. Fucking winter. "I'm from central Florida. That boring part, not the touristypart."

He glanced over at me. "Do you get back thereoften?"

"No."

"Can't imagine the holidays in Florida are much like this." Hartshorn waved at the icy patches on thesidewalk.

"They'renot."

I left it at that. This guy was a saint and he'd be my boss one of these days, but I didn't need to drop my dirty laundry and daddy issues at his feet. Just because he gave me a glimpse into his complex inner life didn't mean I had to return the favor. I didn't do that kind of heart-to-heart shit withanyone.

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